


The Bodyguard

by Miss_K



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, POV Eve Polastri, Slow Burn, Villanelle | Oksana Astankova Being an Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_K/pseuds/Miss_K
Summary: Villanelle is hired as Eve's bodyguard. Just what lengths she'll go to to protect Eve will push them both to their limits. You game?
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Niko Polastri, Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 28
Kudos: 184





	1. Trust

"Is all of this really necessary?" Eve asks, trying to keep her incredulity to a minimum. She addresses her question to those present in the conference room with her for what supposedly is an "urgent meeting", namely her husband Niko Polastri --the Polish ambassador to the United Kingdom-- the rather intimidating Carolyn Martens of the MI6, and the two solemn-looking associates that flank her. 

Carolyn doesn't rush to respond, rather allows her unwavering gaze to remain on Eve for a moment. "Given the seriousness of the situation, Mrs Polastri, no." Her tone is stern, the sentiment of which is echoed by her expression and the posture of her statuesque frame; and it leaves no question as to who the authority figure is here.

"'The seriousness of the situation'? I'd hardly call a few emails a cause for concern. They're pretty run of the mill, actually."

"Perhaps. But the suspicious packages recently sent to your husband certainly are."

The new information takes Eve aback. She racks her brain for Niko making mention of any such event but quickly comes up blank. It is afterall not something one easily forgets.

Confused, she turns to him and inquires, "What is she talking about?" She scans his countenance and is alarmed by what she finds. The furrow of his brow is as deep as ever, his mouth but a tight line, and wariness has stripped his eyes of their characteristic kindness.

Niko ventures at answering but stops himself, his lips curling to a close in a way that makes his bristly moustache twitch. Seemingly at a loss, he clenches his jaw and casts a hopeful look Carolyn's way.

"Earlier this week we intercepted a package of unknown origin that was meant for the ambassador," Carolyn says as she flips open a brown folder --those ones whose nondescript covers often belie their sensitive contents. "In it we found these."

Eve tears her eyes away and takes up the papers Carolyn slides across to her, which she finds are scans of numerous handwritten letters addressed to Niko. 

Now to say the penmanship is poor is an understatement. It's utterly dreadful. But as erratic, aggressive, and riddled with scratching outs and misspellings as the letters are, the intent could not be clearer: to terrify.

According to the one letter, he's a "bastard pig" whose dirty laundry would be aired soon enough. It goes on to say that when it does, he would be "gutted" and his body displayed for all to see as a warning. 

Shorter jottings are no less venomous. Just a few lines is all it takes for the writer to promise to petrol bomb his office and abduct his "bitch wife".

Eve swallows heavily around the massive lump that has since firmly rooted itself in her throat. She glances at Niko, then Carolyn, and back again before she continues to leaf through the pages. 

Next she finds images of Niko from public events, only his eyes are harshly scratched out. That, or his entire head is blacked out with a crude caricature of it on display at his feet. In others there are cartoon knives piercing his chest and legs with vivid red blood gushing in all directions.

She's seen material of this nature before, the belligerent, hateful, ignorant spewings of the aggrieved and slighted; but never before has it been this close to home. 

It's suddenly too much for her to handle and she lets the papers fall from her hands.

The tense silence that follows only breaks when Carolyn announces, "Unfortunately, that's not all."

Eve takes a moment to gather herself. When she eventually lifts her head, she meets Carolyn's stare that is most unlike the pointed ones from before, one of deep concern. 

"There was also an envelope containing a fine white powder that, after further chemical analysis, we found to have traces of ricin, a highly toxic poison that can be lethal, especially in that large a quantity."

"Jesus," is all Eve can utter in a breathy whisper before she slips into a complete state of shocked disbelief. It's only then, when she raises a shaky hand to her head, that Niko reaches to comfort her, giving her free hand a tight squeeze. It's a gesture she fails to return.

"Do you know who's behind this?" Niko speaks for the first time, his weak and unsteady voice a stark contrast to Carolyn's own resolute one.

"As yet, no. Nor do we know what the end game here is. What we do know is that whomever it is that targeted you is using the same _modus operandi_ on various other ambassadors and foreign delegates within the UK. They're systematic in their approach and they've escalated their offence in recent weeks. It's likely they will continue to do so going forward." 

"Shit." Niko sighs loudly before asking, "So where do we go from here?" 

"Well, we obviously want to get ahead of this. And with that in mind, I've advised that a private security detail be assigned to you and Eve. Have them accompany and shadow you wherever you go." Carolyn turns to the male associate beside her and nods at the files in front of him, which he passes over without a word.

"Everywhere?"

"Relatively speaking, yes," Carolyn says while sliding on a pair of spectacles. "We need to manage the risk as best we can and I believe this is the way to do it. I know this situation is scary and we may well be overreacting but I'd rather that than to have a nasty surprise sprung on us."

"Now, shall we move on to what that will entail?"

* * *

The following morning is nothing short of frantic for Eve. After waking up late --a consequence of the blazing row she'd had the night before with Niko that lasted into the early hours of the morning-- she downed a cup of coffee, tossed on the closest thing that resembled an outfit, and rushed out without saying goodbye. 

She makes her way through the masses ambling along Brewer Street, all undoubtedly on their way to brunch dates and the like; and tries her best to smear on some lipstick as she bobs and weaves. It may be like slapping a bandaid on a gaping wound but it's better than nothing. 

A full fifteen minutes after she was supposed to arrive, she reaches Koffie Alfa Foxtrot --a Dutch coffee shop she's passed dozens of times before. She's just about to fling open its glass panelled door when she catches sight of her hair. More accurately, she gets a fright from the reflection of the mess of curls that would've drawn a few curious stares from passersby. "Shit, shit, shit," she mutters while hurriedly raking her fingers through her tresses. 

Finally, she enters and immediately spots Konstantin Vasiliev --the security consultant Carolyn has put in charge of her and Niko's safety-- nestled at the back corner of the cafe. She'd briefly met him after yesterday's meeting, where they'd arranged this meet-up. The purpose of it, he said, would be for her to meet her new 'bodyguard' and for them to further discuss the logistics going forward. 

She notices he's not alone. There's a woman with him. But Eve doesn't have time to think much about that because Konstantin notices her approaching and quickly rises from his seat.

"Mrs Polastri, so nice to see you again," he says while offering her a grin and firm handshake in greeting. His accent is eastern European accent, maybe Russian; and his looks can best be described as that of an older gentleman: wispy silvery hair that is receding somewhat, trimmed beard, eyes that crinkle deeply when he smiles, and a style that's overwhelmingly utilitarian.

"Hi, I'm so sorry I'm late."

He bats her apology away with a wave of his hand. "That's no problem at all, really. Here…I'd like to introduce you to Villanelle. She'll be your new uhhh --how do they say in this country? minder. Yes."

Now whatever image Eve had in mind of what her 'minder' would look like could not be further from the woman that stands before her. 

Villanelle is young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, and her smooth, bright skin bears only the slightest hint of makeup -- unnecessarily Eve feels. The high French braid her honey blonde hair is woven into accentuates the devastating slope of her cheekbones and feline nature of her eyes. And while her tall stature is imposing enough, the same cannot be said of her build, which is slender and lacks the stereotypical muscular heft of a bodyguard. 

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs Polastri."

Villanelle's curious accent mystifies Eve. Like Konstantin, it sounds like it could be Russian but the intonation suggests another influence. In trying to figure out what exactly that influence is, Eve gazes at Villanelle without responding or accepting her outstretched hand.

Thankfully she comes to before things become too awkward. "Uh. Hi. It's nice to meet you, too."

"Please, let's sit."

Eve follows Konstantin's lead and takes a seat across from Villanelle. "Oh, and it's Eve. There's no need to call me 'Mrs Polastri'."

"Well, then. Eve." 

Villanelle's little smile and the way she practically purrs her name causes a tiny stir in Eve. What or why that is, Eve doesn't know. At least not yet.

"Thank you for meeting us, Eve. I wish it was under better circumstances but I think we can both a-"

"Konstantin, where are your manners?" Villanelle reproves. She gives Eve an apologetic look before returning her gaze to her superior. "Don't you think we should at least get Eve something to drink before we get down to business? Hmm?" 

Konstantin is gobsmacked by the cheek of a twinkle-eyed Villanelle. The look on his face is not unlike the one parents have when their child says something provocative or inappropriate in public and they have to moderate their reaction. It almost makes Eve laugh. Almost.

"Of course...Would you like anything before we get started?"

"Uh, yeah. A flat white would be great."

"Let me get that for you," Villanelle volunteers as she jumps to her feet. "Can I get you anything, Konstantin?" She gives him a sugary sweet smile when he shakes his head and then turns on her heel.

Konstantin waits until the younger woman is out of earshot to say, "You must please excuse Villanelle. She can be a bit…" His trails off but his hand gesture says it all. Villanelle is a handful. "She's one of the best, though, and I trust her implicitly. _You_ can trust her to keep you safe."

Eve nods silently and looks towards the counter where Villanelle is placing the coffee order. And it's at that very moment that the young woman glances over her shoulder and immediately locks eyes with Eve. They hold there for one...two...three...four...five...six seconds. Then Villanelle smirks and turns her attention back to the server.


	2. So many layers but so little style

"As I was saying," Konstantin drags Eve's focus back to the matter at hand. "I know this isn't an ideal situation for you and your husband to be in but we're going to make it as easy for you as we can."

The gravity of his voice frightens Eve and causes her to draw in a shaky breath. "So how exactly does this work? Will she be with me all the time?"

"Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"On what you feel comfortable with." When he notices her confused expression, he smiles softly, almost in a fatherly way, and elaborates, "Look, having someone with you 24/7 can be a lot to handle. And while I'd prefer it that way because then I know for sure you'll be safe, it's impossible. More importantly, though, it's not fair on you."

"As things stand right now, I'd like for her to escort you to and from your home and wherever you need to go. You know, events and whatever else you need to attend."

"And when you say 'escort', you mean…"

"She won't be holding your hand and leading you everywhere you go if that's what you're thinking." He's quick to smother his hearty chuckle with a cough when his jest fails to have the desired effect on Eve.

Changing tactics, he shifts forward in his chair and brings his arms up to rest on the table. With a distinct drop in his voice, he continues, "She'll follow you and keep an eye on you and your surroundings. From a little way away, of course. So instead of you looking over your shoulder all the time, she'll be the one doing the looking. Her job is to take pressure off you by giving you one less thing to worry about."

"When you put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad."

"Good. Ah, here's your coffee."

On cue, Villanelle places Eve's flat white in front of her and settles down. "Can you believe he wouldn't let me buy all the kruidnoten?" She levels a withering glare at the offending server and doesn't relent even after he retreats behind the espresso machine. In fact, to drive home her utter displeasure, she narrows her eyes at him as she pops one of the biscuits into her mouth.

"I was just telling Eve what I had in mind for you to do."

The way Konstantin completely ignores Villanelle's antics tickles Eve, so much so that she has to take a gulp of her coffee just to cover her grin. 

Villanelle's mood does a complete 180 when she suddenly smiles that charming smile at Eve. "Oh, yeah? Yes, I am to keep an eye on you and be vigilant of any threats towards you."

Konstantin looks expectantly at Villanelle but she doesn't budge. They remain locked in that staring contest for a count of five before he gives in. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"I'm only to act when it is absolutely necessary," Villanelle practically grumbles.

"Good. Do _exactly_ that, okay? Now...On to the matter of your work, Eve."

Eve is so distracted by the little entertaining back-and-forth that she doesn't realise he's now talking to her and is slow to answer, "Sorry, what about it?"

"You write for the news site, Bitter Pill, correct?"

"Yes."

"How many people work with you?"

Faces and names of Eve's colleagues flash through her head one by one as she does a quick tally. "There are seven of us on the writing team, two that handle publishing, and two more on advertising. So eleven. Oh, and our receptionist. Twelve altogether, then."

"And you don't have interns or any one like that?"

"Very rarely. Why?" Eve asks and takes another sip.

"I thought it would be a good idea to have Villanelle pose as a new employee so she can keep a watch on things but now I don't think so. Your team is too small for that to work. Having her there would draw too much attention. I'm sure questions would also be asked and I don't want you to have to deal with that. Your work and relationships with your coworkers should not suffer because of an arrangement like this." 

Konstantin rubs his beard and hums to himself as he ponders the best course of action. He eventually ventures, "If she can't be there with you then we have to manage the risk another way. Is it possible for you to take us to your work?" 

"Uhhh."

He rushes to explain, "The reason I ask is because I'd then like to check the level of security there and see whether any additional measures should be put in place or not."

With her concerns allayed, Eve offers, "I could take you there now if you like. It's just a short walk away."

"Let's do it."

* * *

Eve uses the time it takes for them to finish their coffees to ask the many niggling questions she has about this new partnership of hers, from whether they need to track her location to what the procedure is in the event of an emergency. 

Konstantin shows tremendous patience when answering every one of them but the same cannot be said of his young associate. Villanelle grows bored with the exercise rather quickly and finds more entertainment in the patrons around them. Needless to say, she leaps to her feet when they're finally able to leave for the Bitter Pill offices.

It's while walking beside Villanelle that Eve becomes acutely aware of how little effort she put into getting ready this morning. Because whereas she is dressed down in an ensemble that can be summed up by the phrase 'so many layers but so little style', Villanelle wouldn't look out of place in a glossy fashion magazine. The young woman is [decked out](https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.popsugar.com/fashion/photo-gallery/44646842/image/44647376/Topshop-Geometric-Pattern-Faux-Fur-Coat/amp) in a faux fur coat that bears a graphic geometric print, which she teams with jade suede ankle boots that pop with vibrancy against the black of her leather pants. 

Embarrassed and beset by a sense of inferiority, Eve pulls her parka tight around her and hugs her handbag to her front.

Thankfully the familiar sight of the Bitter Pill entrance comes into view soon after.

"There shouldn't be anyone in today," she mentions while giving the front door the special jiggle it needs to open. Just a short walk down a narrow passage later, they emerge into the vacant foyer.

Eve is about to sweep her arms in a gesture of welcoming when she switches on the office lights but stops herself. After all, the place isn't much to look at. It's all fluorescent lighting, grey carpeting, your standard flat-pack office furniture, pinboards, and an abundance of filing cabinets. Even the pieces in the communal lounge look as if someone said 'that'll do' while buying them. 

It doesn't matter that the offices aren't flashy because neither is the Bitter Pill. It's no frills, fusses, or bullshit here, and that's exactly what Eve likes about it.

Konstantin doesn't wait for the go-ahead from Eve to begin his inspection because he heads straight to the windows that run along the length of the room. "Is this the whole office?" 

"There's a little kitchen to the left and just through there is the bathroom and rear stairwell," Eve says, pointing to the door near the back corner.

Rather than get in his way, Eve decides to leave him be. Turning her attention to Villanelle instead, she finds her scrutinising a great pinboard that is chock-a-block with newspaper cuttings and photographs. The young woman gives the odd piece a brief perusal, leaning in close to get a better look; while unpinning and repinning the tacks holding them seemingly for the hell of it.

But she grows tired of it all soon enough and moves on in search of her next source of amusement. She flops herself down in one of the chairs, swivels from side to side a few times, does two full turns, before she pushes herself off towards Eve's desk.

"Is this yours, Eve?" 

"Yes."

Villanelle's gaze sweeps over the miscellany strewn across its surface and back up again. She doesn't pass comment on the uncapped pens, old sticky notes, shabby notebooks, or the dirty mugs. She merely raises her brows at Eve, looks away, and rolls towards another desk.

Mildly horrified by Villanelle's silent judgement, Eve is swift to clear her desk. While she's at it, she figures she may as well neaten up the office a tad because much like herself, tidiness isn't at the top of the list of priorities of her colleagues.

It's just as she's rinsing the mugs that Konstantin receives a call. 

"I'm so sorry but I have to take this," he confesses to Eve and signals for Villanelle to take over from him before he steps out.

The young woman shrugs off her coat and immediately springs into action. With the help of a stool she drags from the kitchen, she climbs onto a filing cabinet situated beneath the main vent. Making use of every inch of her height, she stretches up, carefully shifts its cover to the side, and pops her head in to take a peek inside.

Eve's struck by the motion of Villanelle, the sheer deliberateness of her every move and the fact that she wastes zero energy on the unnecessary. What's more astounding, though, is the drastic change in the young woman's demeanor to one of complete and intense focus. It's almost incongruous with the side of Villanelle she's seen thus far.

With a shake of her head, Eve pulls herself out of her transfixed stupor. "What are you–"

"Sorry about that. Ahhh, I was hoping she'd do the vents. I've got a bad shoulder. Perhaps a sign of my age," Konstantin quips to make Eve chuckle.

"So...what do you think about the place?"

Konstantin makes a face. "It's not the most secure but there's enough to work with. Little changes can make a big difference here. I was thinking of cameras at the entrance, in the foyer, and the stairwell door. A card access system, too, again at the entrance and the stairwell door. And maybe better locks on the windows. That should be fine for now."

The recommendations raise a few alarm bells for Eve. She starts, "It's just…You see, we're an independent publication with a _very_ limited budget, pretty much all of which goes towards rent and wages. I honestly don't think we have money available for what you're asking for."

"Don't worry about that."

"But–"

"I'll handle it, okay?" Konstantin puts a reassuring hand on Eve's shoulder. "All I need is for you to put me in touch with your boss so I can let them know these changes need to be made and then I'll arrange for it to happen. No problem."

Eve is about to protest further but the sudden sound of Villanelle jumping down startles her.

"Well, that's my work done. Good thing, too, because I unfortunately need to get going," Konstantin declares with an apologetic smile. "Over to you, Villanelle."

The young woman arches her brow but nevertheless nods in understanding. She gives him a parting wave that's somewhat half-hearted and settles on the couch.

"Ah, one last thing. Eve, can I have a quick word with you?" Konstantin asks quietly, motioning towards the foyer with his head. When she joins him there, he offers her another of his fatherly grins. "This is going to be quite a change for you and it can take some time to get used. So I ask that you be patient –with yourself, I mean– and allow that to happen. With Villanelle, it may be hard and...awkward at times but just remember that before you know it, you won't even know she's there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't the most eventful chapter but I needed to lay a bit of ground work.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Cheers, K :)


	3. Push-and-pull

**_"Before you know it, you won't even know she's there."_ **

Well, Konstantin could not be further off the mark if he tried because it is three weeks since he made such a comment and Villanelle has yet to blend into the background for Eve. 

Now this may in part be due to the young woman's penchant for flamboyant outfits that would make her stand out in the busiest of crowds but that's not all there is to it. 

An unknown but nonetheless striking energy seems to course through Eve whenever she's around Villanelle, be it in person or from a distance. To what end said energy will manifest itself, she doesn't yet know. What she does know is she can't seem to wrench herself free from its control.

Of course, this hasn't been her experience from the get-go. That force within her has been nourished to its current vigour through every interaction she's had with the young woman, most of which, she's come to realise, she played an active role in instigating. 

For instance, in the hope of getting to know the person she's entrusted her safety to a little better, she sought out Villanelle's company the day their unconventional partnership officially began –the Monday after their first meeting. She figured, rather than have the young woman follow her to work as would have been the case, she'd ask her to walk _with_ her and engage her in light conversation.

Well, things didn't go quite as Eve planned because Villanelle seized the initiative with her own utterly bizarre take on chit-chat. 

The topics the young woman talked about swung dramatically, from the modern Victorian stylings of her accommodation and her theories about how Konstantin injured his shoulder, to a particularly annoying woman she encountered the day before, and seemingly everything else in between. It was a barrage of information which left Eve in an almost stupor-like state when they eventually parted.

Much to the benefit of Eve's sanity, the unconventionality of their exchanges has since mellowed. In fact, their conversations, though now mostly limited to brief chats and text messages, are all right and have, if anything else, given Eve great insight into Villanelle's character. 

The young woman is jarringly honest, cocksure, has a quirky sense of humor, is a shameless provocateur, and her intellect never fails to disarm Eve. 

What stands out most about Villanelle, though, is her freedom. It's in everything she says, in her conduct and how she interacts with others, in her fashion sense. She's somehow unfettered herself from conscience, from social norms and expectations, from the unspoken morals placed upon ourselves, from fear of consequence. 

And it's that lack of inhibition so starkly on display in Villanelle which evokes a powerful mix of curiosity and fascination in Eve but also something even more profound and perturbing: a sense of yearning and envy.

Why does she long for that freedom in a way that makes it feel like something within her is desperately clawing to get out? Is she trapped in some way? If so, by what? Her marriage? Her job? The mundanity that saturates her life? Does she begrudge Villanelle simply because she's uninhibited or because Eve herself doesn't have the chutzpah to attain such a quality of being?

This line of questioning has raced through  
her mind of late, diverting her attention from both professional and personal aspects of her life. 

She's been rather absent-minded at work, more so than usual according to colleague and close friend Bill; and hasn't attended any of the Bitter Pill's biweekly after-work drinks –a particular favourite of hers. Worse still, it's compounded the pressure on her marriage. 

By assuming his silence on the threats made against them, and the great fight it caused, is to blame for Eve's quiet state of distraction, Niko has withdrawn into himself. As a consequence, their times together are awkward affairs, with their once flowing, easy conversations stilted and almost perfunctory. Both seem tempted to talk things through but neither follow through and so the cycle of tension continues. 

Needless to say, the function Eve and Niko are due to attend this coming Saturday could not come at a worse time. They will need to put on a united front at a black tie event hosted by the Lord Mayor of London, where they will be among prominent members of the upper class, leaders in business, and various political figures. It's set to be an evening of pomp and circumstance, grandiosity, and plenty of dull chat.

But as much as they both wished to decline the invitation when it initially arrived two months prior, Niko explained he's duty bound to make an appearance because his ambassadorial predecessors did so in the past.

And that's why Eve's currently out shopping. On a Sunday of all days. Sundays are her favourite for cleaning and doing whatever pottering around the house she feels like. But instead she's on the hunt for a dress fit for the occasion because her closet is seriously lacking in that regard.

The problem is she doesn't like shopping at the best of times, and after one-and-a-half fruitless hours of browsing, her patience is close to wearing thin. 

With a busy week ahead of her and little opportunity to shop after work, though, she has to push on. So she grits her teeth and makes her next stop: Humus Anima.

The quaint boutique has a certain serenity and whimsy about it that transports Eve away from the tumult of Carnaby Street just outside. The space, bedecked with driftwood and burlap furnishings, and heavy with the heady scent of sweet lavender, bears items of every shade of beige, brown, and off-white. It basically is a bohemian shopper's wet dream.

"Can I help you look for something, ma'am?" comes a proper but sweet English voice from beside Eve as she flips through yet another clothing rack.

"No, thank you. I'm f–"

The rest of Eve's curt response dies in her throat because when she turns, she finds it isn't a shop clerk offering her assistance, rather a grinning Villanelle. 

"Your face, Eve. Hilarious," the young woman says, with a snigger.

Eve's bewilderment at Villanelle's perfect imitation of an English accent takes a moment to clear and give way to her shopping-induced irritation from earlier. She isn't in the mood for the young woman's nonsense, even if it is good-natured. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I could come help you look for something to wear for Saturday."

"Why?"

"Because I'm actually good at shopping and it looks like you could really use the help," Villanelle states matter-of-factly.

"That's not true." Indignant, Eve swipes a cream cocktail dress with fringe trim out of the way more aggressively than necessary.

"Sure. I mean, just look at all your shopping bags." Villanelle gestures at an empty-handed Eve and challenges her to say otherwise with an arch of her brow.

With no leg to stand on, all Eve can do is huff out, "You're such an asshole."

The young woman brushes off Eve's insult with a shrug and props her elbow up on the rack. "So...is that a yes or no on the help?"

As much as Eve wishes she could, she knows she can hardly afford to pass up assistance from someone as fashionable as the Villanelle, nor does she wish to prolong her Sunday of suffering any longer than absolutely need be. So left with no other choice, she concedes a pained, "Yes."

From the spark in her eyes and beam of her smile, Villanelle is positively bursting with triumph. "Good. First things first, we need to get out of here." 

"Wait, aren't you going to look for anything in here?" Eve calls after Villanelle as the young woman closes in on the exit.

Villanelle stops dead in her tracks and pivots to face Eve. Her gaze flits about, her frown growing ever deeper as she takes in the boutique's extensive array of neutral tone garments. When she finally looks back at Eve, her expression is one of outright disgust. "No."

Eve rolls her eyes once Villanelle turns her back on her and mumbles, "Oh my God," already regretting her decision. 

Hitching her handbag higher up onto her shoulder, Eve stalks off to where Villanelle is waiting for her just outside on the curb.

"How much do you have to spend today?" the young woman immediately asks of her.

"Uhhh."

The corners of Villanelle's mouth twitch with amusement before she takes a step closer to Eve. "How much are you _willing_ to spend?"

"Uh, five hundred, I guess. Maybe... eight maximum."

Villanelle ponders this for a moment, sliding her hands into the pockets of her burgundy velvet bomber jacket as she does. "Follow me," she finally says and beckons Eve with a nod of her head.

Villanelle glances at Eve every so often with a hint of a smile on her lips as she leads them along narrow bustling streets, turning right then left then right again before they pop up onto Regent Street and promptly enter Reiss.

Eve had only ever walked by its glistening storefront and admired the chic ensembles in its window but never ventured further. And now that she's actually inside, she wishes she would have passed by once more. 

Because while she is awestruck by the crisp clean lines of its minimalist decor, ornate chandeliers that adorn the cavernous ceiling, immaculate product arrangement, and the stylishness of fellow shoppers, she feels out of place, as if someone as drab as herself doesn't quite belong there.

She can't dwell on that for long because Villanelle is already searching through racks nearby with a laser-like focus. 

The young woman draws pieces out to take a closer look and dismisses them with a definitive push when they don't make the grade. "Try this on," she instructs and holds out a gorgeous forest green off-shoulder gown that plunges at the bust for Eve to take.

"I...I can't wear that."

Villanelle's head snaps to the side and her eyes widen with outrage at Eve's refusal. She sharply returns, "Why not?"

"Well, my tits will be out for everyone to stare at."

Confusion clouds the young woman's countenance for a moment before her gaze rather brazenly flicks to Eve's breasts and back up again. "So."

"Not 'so'."

"People stare at tits regardless. _Men_ ," Villanelle says as she juts her hip out and pops a hand onto it, "get distracted by tits even when they're completely covered up. You may as well show yours off a bit in something really sexy."

Eve is about to argue further but Villanelle has got a point. She's still unsure about the dress, though. "I don't know. It's borderline inappropriate."

"No, it's not." 

Despite Villanelle's insistence, Eve doesn't budge, and so they stare each other down in a stand-off that seems to stretch on and on. 

Perhaps witnessing the deadlock from close by, a shop assistant comes over and ventures, "It looks like you ladies could use some help," in far too chipper a tone.

"We're fine, thank you," Villanelle answers flatly without even bothering to look at the poor guy.

Eve offers him a smile in apology for Villanelle's bluntness as he slowly backs away from them and goes right back to glaring at the young woman. 

"I can do this all day, Eve."

As good a fight as Eve has put up, Villanelle's warning, and the taunting cocked brow she delivers it with, does enough to make Eve fold. "Ugh. Fine."

* * *

That same push-and-pull between them goes on until Eve finally heads to the changing room to try on six Villanelle-approved garments, each of which she knows she would never have dared to choose herself if she were shopping alone.

She's busy slipping into a brilliant white tuxedo gown when she faintly hears Villanelle's voice through the dividing curtain.

 _"What are you doing later?"_

Eve's ears immediately perk up.

 _"What am I doing later? Well, to be honest, I don't know,"_ answers another woman, her voice husky with a subtle posh intonation.

_"I do."_

The woman giggles at Villanelle's rather suggestive answer before returning, _"Oh, is that so?"_

_"Yes."_

At this point, Eve is half-in half-out of the gown but she's too focused on the flirty exchange to dress any further. 

Next she picks up the sound of rummaging, followed by the keyboard typing effect on a mobile and, _Call me later._

Eve doesn't know how long after the woman's footfall fades away she remains unmoved, her face a mere inch away from the curtain.

 _"Everything okay in there, Eve?"_

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just fine." Eve hastily slides her arm into the snug sleeves and turns to the mirror to see herself in the gown. Only her searching gaze is immediately drawn elsewhere, to the troubled expression on her face, the crimp of her brow and the melancholy in her dark eyes.

She lied. She's not fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts, feelings, what have you, in the comments below.
> 
> Cheers, K.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something I've had rolling around my head over the last few days. So I decided to give it a go and see where it takes me. Come along with me :)
> 
> If you wish, leave a comment. Cheers :)


End file.
